


Morning Transgression

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Lovers on the Run, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3286298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of relief on the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Transgression

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In Such Emptiness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1455316) by [Marquise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise). 



> Set in the same verse as "In Such Emptiness," but they work on their own.

She woke to the sound of a bang.

These days she slept in fits and starts. They weren’t exactly welcoming environments she found herself in—cheap motels with the shades permanently draw, a gun always under the pillow—and her dreams were haunted things. Always, always they concerned that night, and in truth she wondered if she would ever escape it. The weight of the body on top of her, the feel of Petyr’s hand as he helped her to her feet. Watching the lifeless bag sink under the ink-black water. Helping Petyr burn her clothes--these were the images that accompanied her rest.

That night had been the start of it all. Whether awake or asleep she had not stopped running since.

Petyr was the catalyst of it all, but he was also an odd source of comfort. Every night she curled against him, seeking warmth and solace, which had been given freely. Nothing else was ever given or asked for, though the air between them only grew more and more suffocating with each passing day. She knew that something had to give.

He had woken with her in this moment, or perhaps he had never been asleep. One arm was looped around her waist, skin touching where her tank had ridden up in the night. His other hand had dug beneath the pillow and she could feel the press of the piece beside her ear.

She could not, however, hear his heart. It was almost as if their bodies had gone completely still.

“ _You fucking bastard!”_ rang out into the morning and then another bang, this one the unmistakable sound of a car door. Then the sound of an engine roaring away, a room door slamming, and finally nothing.

Sansa breathed. 

Months ago, she never would have considered herself happy to hear such sounds. She would have even considered calling the police. Now all she felt was thankful, and she rested against Petyr in her relief.

She could feel a hitch in his chest as soon as she did so and she soon realized why. He was hard, pressed against her backside, their bodies more closely entwined than they were when she had finally drifted off. 

It was not the first time she had woken to find him this way, but usually they would then slink away to opposite sides of the bed, or one of them would rise to start preparations for leaving. They never acknowledged it, as if ignoring it would make it go away--a course of logic frankly more suited to innocents. But denial just seemed to _fit_. Everything about them was twisted and wrong, and to add something like this to the mix seemed almost unthinkable. Foolish, even. Pleasure had no place in this life.

And yet this time she did not move and neither did he. Sansa half-turned in his arms and found herself staring up at him in the shadowed dawn, her hips moving against him as she did so. 

“Sansa...” His voice cracked. It was almost a warning, but it was undercut by a growl deep in his chest. She knew he would chastise her, knew that he should push her away, but the blood in her veins was now pumping fast with relief and nothing could stop her from kissing him. 

It was a harsh kiss. His beard scratched her and his teeth tore. His hands claimed, one of them snaking up her tank top to grasp a full, bare breast, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. The other slid its way into her underwear, past the red curls between her thighs, curling around to cup and tease her cunt.

It was as if the floodgates had opened and the dusty, dry lives they had led on the road were being pushed aside. Every charged stare and too-long touch had built to this, to the moment when he rolled her over onto her stomach and roughly pulled her shorts away, nails scratching her skin as he did so, tangling her clothing about her knees.

Sansa found herself pressed against the pillow, the cover rough and harsh, her world seen through strands of auburn as Petyr appraised her, his fingers rubbing against her slick lower lips. She was not a virgin but she had never been with a man like him before (never been with a _man_ at all, if truth be told). His hand was skilled at teasing her just enough to keep her mewing and squirming, fingers dancing along the seam of her entrance.

“Petyr...” was all she could say before he took her, sliding into her with a grunt. He was thicker than she expected, and while she was not inexperienced she was _tight_ , the walls of her cunt gripping him hard with each trust. 

They didn’t speak. Nothing but harsh gasps and groans, accompanied by the sounds of cheap bedsprings, filled the room. She must have been a sight—hair fanned out around her face, legs trapped by her own shorts. The hand of a man old enough to be her father up her shirt, pulling at a nipple and digging at a breast until she was sure he would leave marks, her whole frame pinned to the bed by his cock. She could hear the sounds of her slickness, could feel the obscene way her lips pulled and sucked him as he took her, pounded her with a force that came from weeks of restraint.

When Sansa’s hand slid down between her legs to bring about her own pleasure she heard a shuddering moan of approval, a whispered curse.

He hadn’t worn anything. There had been no time. He was taking her bare, and she had every reason to feel cheap—the locale, the position, the foolishness of skin on skin—but she didn’t think she would. She felt more alive than she had in weeks.

Her fingers, well practiced as they were, made quick work and she soon stiffened, nearly choking as she was pressed between the pillow and his frame. Sweat was now blurring her vision and Petyr was gripping her as if she might bolt. 

She clenched him hard but he still managed to pull away when the time came, swiftly sliding out, spilling himself against her bare thigh, the height of obscenity.

When Petyr left her body she remained there for a moment longer, listening to him right himself, waiting for words of regret. She was still half-clothed, her panties now stained with him, her round bottom and sore lips on display. She felt a peculiar sense of emptiness, a looseness of the limbs, the lingering reminder of his harsh touch.

And for the first time in weeks she was not overwhelmed by the memories of the past.

When she turned her head and looked at him he extended a hand to help her to her feet, letting her kick off the stained garments as he did so.

“We best get ready to leave,” he said, pulling her towards the shower without another word.


End file.
